


The Dictionary of Fools

by sithmarauder



Series: Invictus [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood and Injury, Enemies to Friends, German translation available, Historical Accuracy, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Napoleonic Wars, Pining, Platonic Romance, Politics, Translation Available, and everything else you'd expect to find in a fic about war, warfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithmarauder/pseuds/sithmarauder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War has a remarkable tendency to make enemies out of allies and (temporary) allies out of enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dictionary of Fools

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into Deutsch available: [Das Wörterbuch von Narren](http://www.fanfiktion.de/s/53f650c800041840262cdff9/6/Wasser-und-Ol) by [Kate_Marley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Marley).
> 
> original notes: _A fill for the PruAus secretsanta on tumblr, dedicated to_ glitterbender _, who requested historical PruAus. I didn't get a chance to partake in the initial one, since I had exams at the time, but when I heard there was still an opportunity to write for it I jumped at the chance. It's a day late due to Word complications, but here it is! It's set during the Napoleonic Wars and I'm sorry if there are some small inaccuracies. I did my best to weed them out._
> 
>  
> 
> _This fic covers allusions to the initial alliances, the Battle of Dresden, [the Battle of the Nations/Battle of Leipzig], and the end of the Congress of Vienna._
> 
>  
> 
> All right. So. First off, this is a repost of a fic that I wrote almost two years ago, originally posted [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10028785/1/The-Dictionary-of-Fools). I have done my best to weed out the many, many typos that were in it, as well as removed a couple of my old writing ticks (i.e. "the Austrian" vs. "Austria") that I absolutely loathed, but beyond the occasional fix this is pretty much the exact same thing that originally went up two years ago. Because I wrote this so long ago, however, there are no historical notes, which are now standard in my fics. I apologise for this.
> 
> Honestly, huge shout-out to [Kate_Marley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Marley), who has been steadily translating my terrible forays into historical Hetalia and putting up with my nonsensical ramblings these past few months. This repost is for you, and thank you for being so wonderful ♥

 

> "Impossible is a word to be found only in the dictionary of fools."
> 
> \- Napoleon Bonaparte

The first thing he did when he saw Austria’s face was laugh.

“Back again, little master?” he crowed, the sound making Austria flinch, and Prussia couldn’t help the stab of satisfaction he felt upon seeing that. “They’ve finally drawn you out of the shadows, haven’t they? How does it feel to make a stand against _another_ of your former alliances?”

The look he received from Austria could have frozen fire, and Prussia felt his spine straighten inadvertently as a result before his face twisted into a sneer of dismay at the fact that he had actually _reacted_ like that to the priss, even as his mind barraged him with a series of thoughts that proclaimed Prussian awesomeness and that Prussian awesomeness _did not bow to aloof Austrians_. Austria said nothing, however, merely turning his head back to the document containing their negotiations, the ones that would at last drag him out into clear opposition of the man who had once shared his hand and, Prussia thought darkly, his bed. For the rest of the meeting no one could get a sound out of Austria, and Prussia tried his best to ignore the tightening of his gut when Austria refused to respond to the goading that before had always garnered at least a scathing _“Don’t be ridiculous, Prussia_.” When the plans were finalised and the armies agreed upon Austria left the room without a sound, the slight sway in his steps betraying his exhaustion, and Prussia noticed because he _always_ noticed, he noticed everything about Austria and he always had because that was what enemies did, they knew each other, they knew each other better than anyone else.

He didn’t stop to think of the ramifications of that as he followed Austria out of the room, his footsteps heavier, that of a soldier, and when Austria closed the doors of his quarters behind him with a firm sound Prussia didn’t follow and he most certainly did _not_ think about the way his stomach curled in something that felt scarily close to sympathy.

It was a sad situation for anyone to be in, he told himself fiercely. He would feel the same had it happened to anyone, and the fact that it was Austria meant nothing.

It was a thought that followed him to sleep, even as his dreams conjured images of white-gloved hands and pretty violet eyes beside the gold of the French throne.

\--

The losses were felt keenly. Across the way he could see Russia sitting silently on a tree stump, his face utterly devoid of anything, and he made no move to clean the blood that decorated his face and uniform. It made Prussia shiver to see that, as he always shivered when the tall nation was near, but when he walked by he gave Russia a cocky smile that did not betray the shaky feeling that had plagued him ever since their forces had narrowly managed to withdraw from Saint-Cyr. The feeling still followed him though, further pursued by the knowledge that, save for a fluke, it could have been so much worse.

When he rounded the next corner, he wondered if it had been.

He could see Schwarzenberg standing next to a seated Austria, the man utterly devoid of the golden uniform Prussia had seen in some stuck-up painting or whatever, but the pacing of the Austrian commander wasn’t what snagged his attention. Instead his eyes were drawn to Austria— _as they always are_ , his mind cooed, and Prussia scowled and huffed and mentally snarled that his awesome self had better things to look at than that—and the way he sat stiffly on one of the provided chairs. One of his gloves was slashed through the palm, Prussia realised, a wound that bled freely and sluggishly, something that the other nation seemed not to notice. His face was streaked with blood as well, his hair mussed and tangled, the uniform on his body unclean and looking about as uncollected as Prussia had ever seen it. He had brief recollections of Austria meeting France’s blade as the rains of Dresden poured down all around them, and he felt his stomach clench unpleasantly at the thought once more before he threw his shoulders back and sauntered into the room like he hadn’t a care in the world, like they hadn’t just lost nearly forty-thousand men in a battle that should not have been lost.

“Doin’ all right there, little master?” Prussia asked arrogantly as he moved to sit in one of the nearby chairs, causing the Austrian commander to jerk his head up in surprise even as Austria’s eyes turned wearily to him, and Prussia bit his lip at the lack of lustre in them before he forced himself to roll his own eyes. “It’ll be fine, you know,” he continued. “One little loss—so what? Can’t expect to win everything and besides, this time you’re on the same side as my awesome self!” He didn’t know what kind of reaction he was looking for but a look of relief had not been one of them, and he was so surprised that he did not even react to Schwarzenburg as the Austrian commander left the area, his footsteps echoing through the stone walls of the building they had retreated to. He sneezed as Austria continued to look at him, his face heating, and he told himself it was because of irritation and nothing more.

“Look,” Prussia said, his voice somewhat grouchy as Austria continued to regard him silently, “it wasn’t even that bad. We’re lucky France’s commander is allergic to the rain or it might have been worse.”

Austria’s mouth twitched and Prussia nearly exhaled in relief at the irritation he could read from the small movement. His palm was still leaking blood, staining the white of his trousers to match the rest of the uniform’s waist, and Prussia scowled.

“You’re an idiot, Specs,” he said, rising to his feet so abruptly that Austria started, his mouth curling into a thin line of distaste so familiar that Prussia paid no heed as a result. He stomped over to Austria, yanking the glove off his hand and trying to ignore the irritated hiss before he muttered that he had better things to do that baby a man who should have known how to take care of himself at this point.

“Then leave me to take care of myself,” Austria snapped. “The last thing I want is your _pity_ , Prussia.” His fingers twitched slightly before his free hand began to move, as if itching for piano keys, and Prussia glared at him.

“If I don’t, then you won’t. Please, little master, everyone knows you’re absolute shit at taking care of yourself,” he spat, and felt a brief hint of satisfaction when Austria flinched at the accusation, violet eyes narrowing in anger. It made Prussia sag with relief. Austria’s anger was always something he could deal with, and it was better than the impassive stare he had been giving everyone else.

“You’re like a baby, always needing someone like my awesome self to help fight your battles,” Prussia continued to grumble as he soaked a cloth from the nearby washbasin that had been prepared, the water having gone cold long ago. “I hate babies, did you know that?” he said as he pressed the cloth to Austria’s hand, ignoring the hiss and the way the little master’s fingers curled in like claws.

“You seem the type to,” Austria said in a tone of mixed haughtiness and pain as Prussia sneezed briefly. “There isn’t one scrap of decency in you, Prussia.”

Prussia ignored that, but his grip tightened on Austria’s wrist slightly as if he were issuing a challenge, and after a brief tensing of his shoulders Austria finally relaxed, though Prussia could feel the other nation’s violet eyes resting on him in what he expected was mistrust, as if he were waiting for Prussia to up and laugh like it was all a joke, leaving him once more to pick himself up off the ruined battlefield. Prussia snorted indelicately at the thought and it made Austria tense once more as Prussia tied a strip of cloth over the cut before he abruptly seized the wounded hand with both of his own, the black of his own gloves a stark contrast to the pale white of Austria’s skin.

“You bleed with the lives of your soldiers,” Prussia hissed then, not looking Austria in the eyes. “We all do. So grow up and fight for them if nothing else, little master, and next time we meet face-to-face on the field fight as if you actually give a damn about them.”

When he raised his eyes to meet Austria’s he saw resignation in them as Austria delicately drew his hand away from Prussia’s, placing it in his lap like the priss he was.

“I am aware that this is only an alliance of convenience, Prussia,” he said coldly. “If you think I am not aware that they inevitably end then you are an even bigger fool than I thought you were.”

Prussia felt his anger rise at that, his red eyes darkening as he spat a German curse at the other nation for his cold words, for his dispassion, for making Prussia want to—want to _stop that_ because he didn’t like the dispassion and had always preferred Austria’s pretty violet eyes to contain something other than cold disregard. Anger, hatred, pain, he had caused all of those things to see Austria act like he was more than a trussed up ice sculpture, to see something other than the painted aristocrat, and it made his blood boil to see Austria regressing to the old mannerisms again, to see him acting as if he expected everyone to betray him, to leave him in the end, even if—

He stumbled.

_Even if many of them did. You’re too weak and you always have been and it has cost you everything, you stupid priss._

“I’m smart enough to see that apathy doesn’t buy loyalty,” Prussia snapped then, stumbling to his feet and forcing Austria to crane his neck to maintain eye contact. “You can’t make your soldiers fight properly by drilling them into the ground. Like you, they’re like babies who have to be led around and told what to do.” Austria’s hackles were rising so Prussia hurried on, his voice growing angrier as he spoke, “you’ve deprived them of their ability to react to things, you idiot!”

“Prussia,” Austria said, and there was an angry note in his voice and a red flush on his face, “ _shut up_.”

“Like hell! My awesome self is right and you know it,” Prussia shot back, and before he knew what he was doing he had reached out to grab Austria’s shoulders, aware of the other man’s eyes on his face. “I’m right,” he repeated firmly before he abruptly released Austria like his hands had been burned, his face turning bright red as a warm feeling spread throughout his body.

“Take care of yourself,” he snapped then, stumbling back. “And don’t think I care or anything. I just don’t want to add to your uselessness. It reflects bad on my awesome self.” Then he spun around and walked out of the room, absurdly proud to be the one leaving first for once. He almost didn’t hear the quiet “Thank you, Prussia” as Austria curled his injured hand into a fist behind him.

It probably would have been better if he hadn’t.

\--

Austria’s quiet “thank you” didn’t leave his mind for a long time after that, and more than once he caught himself frowning in the other nation’s direction. At one point Britain even elbowed him and snapped at him to stop mooning as they prepared to march, which Prussia had balked at before he had started shouting that he wasn’t staring at the priss, not awesome Prussia!

“There are better things for me to look at,” he proclaimed, but Britain just sneered and stamped off to go bark at one of the others, leaving Prussia to scoff right back at his retreating form.

“He’s been testy since America left.”

The cool observation made Prussia whirl around, none of his soldier’s grace present in the movements. Austria stood beside him, his gloved hands resting lightly on the hilt of the Grenadier sabre that he had strapped to his hip. Prussia snorted, covering up a quick sneeze.

“Guess all that stuff falls eventually,” he said with a flippant shrug. Austria turned narrowed eyes to him.

“Indeed,” he said before moving to leave, but Prussia reached out and grabbed his hand before he could, tugging off the glove before he flipped Austria’s hand over in his palm.

“It healed nicely,” he commented almost grudgingly, suddenly embarrassed. When he looked up again there was something considering in Austria’s eyes, and it made Prussia want to laugh frantically. Flippant words stood poised on the tip of his tongue, ready to break the strange tension that had fallen, but he found he could not speak them. Instead he just continued to look at Austria’s eyes, staring at that unique violet colour he had never seen before on anyone else, darker than Russia’s and far more wary. The warm feeling was building in his stomach again, spreading throughout his body, and he rubbed the back of his neck in irritation, thinking the flush was due to his uniform.

“Yes,” Austria said at last, his voice crisp as he curled his fingers in and then uncurled them again like that day several months ago, and his _thank you_ once again raced through Prussia’s mind, and Prussia hadn’t known he had needed to hear something positive from Austria until he had heard those words. It made him hate Austria a little, hate that he made Prussia crave his approval like that. It made him think of the days he had spent as a young territory and then as an inconsequential duchy, wishing to be all that Austria had been before he had realised just how weak the little master really was, especially compared to his awesome self. Austria’s every defeat had been Prussia’s victory ever since he had first struck out some fifty years ago.

Until now.

Now they were allies and Austria was once more facing off against someone who had promised him their loyalty, as he had promised them his. Prussia wondered who had reneged on the promise first this time before he snorted indelicately at the thought, his mind vehemently rejecting how Austria had gone about building his empire in the first place—so different than what he himself had done.

“Well, Specs, I have better things to do than stand here—we have France’s mess to clean up,” he said flippantly before brushing past Austria, only to be stopped by the feeling of a small hand in his own. He turned to stare, red eyes wide, face almost matching his irises as Austria drew closer before he abruptly leaned in and kissed Prussia gently on the cheek, leaving the soldier nation to stare after him as he vanished among the tents.

\--

Their cries of victory could be heard throughout the entire camp, the survivors drowning their grief for the dead and their joy to be alive in music and drink and games, the kind many soldiers brought with them when they were to be away from home for so long. Prussia’s own grin was sharp and smug as he looked at them all, his face flushed with triumph and the beer he had been drinking with Sweden earlier before he had wandered off, laughing raucously as he stumbled without much aim. He could hear Russia’s high laugh in the distance and thought he saw a flash of Saxony’s blonde hair somewhere, but he was unconcerned. There was only one whose person he sought, and his grin became more mocking when he saw the white-clad figure of Austria at last.

There was a very faint flush to Austria’s face that Prussia could see as he drew closer, as well as a small smile, despite the cuts and bruises Prussia knew would be hidden under Austria’s uniform—blood for the lives of the soldiers they had lost, despite their victory.

“And Leipzig falls to us!” Prussia crowed as he flopped onto the ground next to Austria, the other nation turning surprised eyes on him. Prussia turned his eyes away, thinking about how he had been avoiding Austria as of late as memories of Austria’s odd parting gift floated through his mind, making his mouth feel dry as he remembered the feeling of Austria’s lips against his skin. Austria’s vantage point on the stump made him far taller than Prussia, but Prussia didn’t care in that moment. He was drunk off of victory and beer and confused about the man sitting before him, the man who had always been his enemy before, and he knew that even Austria was not impervious to the feelings of victory. Anything else was anyone’s guess.

“France and his insufferable general will be forced to return to their own lands now,” Austria breathed, and there was a sharpness in his voice that made Prussia look up with a scrutinizing frown, which made him look more drunk than before.

“Thought you would’ve been upset, priss,” he said without thinking, receiving a sharp look for his efforts. Prussia thought of the brief kiss again.

“There is nothing I enjoy about France, you great fool,” Austria said testily, his face reddening, and Prussia had to consciously stop his jaw from dropping at the sight. “That you think I—that you think I could ever _like_ such a lecherous, _crude_ man…” he trailed off, frowning, as if angry that his words had deserted him so. “You are a _fool_ , Prussia,” he repeated then, as if it were a great victory that he had managed to get that out. Prussia sneered.

“A fool you trust with your soldiers,” he said smugly, watching the red on Austria’s face deepen. His drunken mind decided he rather liked the colour on Austria’s face, the alcohol soothing his thoughts to the point where he didn’t question the thoughts.

“You’re a good soldier,” Austria said with a slight sniff, but he scrambled back slightly when Prussia abruptly hauled himself up, seizing Austria’s hands in his.

“ _You_ think I’m a good soldier?” he said harshly. Austria frowned.

“You’ve beaten me enough times to prove that to be the case.”

Prussia laughed obnoxiously. “That’s right, I have,” he crowed, thinking fondly of the first war between them that had left Austria filthy and defeated in the dirt at Prussia’s feet. But then his face clouded over slightly, making Austria frown.

“D’you think he’s proud?” Prussia slurred, glancing up at the sky, narrowly missing the confused look Austria was giving him before the other man’s violet eyes cleared rather abruptly, and Prussia wondered if Austria had been drinking less than he had assumed.

“You mean that vile man?” he said, making Prussia bristle.

“He was not—“

“Do not expect me to praise him, Prussia,” Austria’s sharp voice said, cutting him off, though Prussia could feel Austria’s hands relax slightly in his grip, causing him to loosen his own a bit.

“I think he’d be proud,” Prussia said then. The warm feeling was back as it always was around Austria these days, and when he looked up to meet Austria’s eyes he felt his tongue go dry, especially when he pictured Austria as he had been earlier that day, fighting to win instead of his going through the motions, a fierce expression on his face as he fought for the men dying around him for once. “Y-you—“ Prussia stammered, the words failing him, and he floundered long enough that he didn’t notice Austria leaning forward until he felt the other nation’s lips brush softly against his own, something that made heat slam into his body, instantly turning his face as red as his eyes.

“Y-you fought good,” Prussia managed to spit out before he abruptly stood and ran away, and though Sweden gave him a stoic (yet almost concerned) look when Prussia sat shakily beside him he didn’t question, refusing to meet Saxony’s sharp green eyes across the flames of the fire, refusing to think about what had just happened.

Refusing to think about how much he wanted it to happen again.

\--

His mistrust of Britain sat heavily on his mind, and embarrassment sat equally heavily on all those present as they shot looks at a displeased-looking Austria, who had had to intervene to prevent war from breaking out among those who were supposed to be allies. From where his seat was Prussia could see the flushed face of England as he angrily stared at the table, and he kept narrowed eyes on the red-coated man throughout the rest of the day, occasionally sneaking glances at a frowning Russia.

They were all aware of the magnitude of what was happening. Napoleon had returned from Elba, leaving them all to scramble against him, but they were nearly at war with each other at this point. Prussia himself had been incensed, demanding the captive Saxony while Russia argued for Poland, only to have Austria stand between them saying that they could have neither of those things, and Prussia had turned his anger momentarily on the violet-eyed nation before it had then switched to Britain, who had managed to weasel out of his promise yet again in order to placate Russia and the Tsar, who had almost declared war right then and there.

Now they stood around the table, silent, knowing exactly what their agreement would pull them into: another war, another conflict, and a seventh coalition where there shouldn’t have even been one.

Britain was the first to slam his hand on the table, green eyes narrowed with determination, the corners of his mouth pulled into a sneer.

“I’m done letting that Frog’s shit-bearded face cause trouble,” Britain snapped, his fingers straining on the wood. Russia laughed, but there was something dangerous in it as he rested his hand on the table as well, a small, eerie smile on his face. Prussia grit his teeth, glaring at Britain, though he placed a black-gloved hand on the table as well as he sneezed, and nearly jerked back when Austria’s white-gloved hand joined his, brushing the material of his glove briefly. For a moment he just stared at Austria, causing the violet-eyed nation to look up briefly, but Prussia averted his warm face back to the table.

“Then it’s decided,” Austria intoned. “Talleyrand will be informed that his slithery tongue has done its work.” He then stepped back, as did the others, all of them filing out of the room, the agreement between them like a silent tie holding them all together. Before Austria could leave, however, Prussia reached out to grab his shoulder, surprised when Austria didn’t try to shrug him off as Britain and Russia left the room.

In the aftermath of the kiss in the camp he had taken the time to think, to identify, something he rarely did. Page after page of his current journal had been filled with a cramped and angry scrawl, words that railed against Austria one moment and professed the terrifying _he’s a complete priss at all times but he has his uses_ the next, which from Prussia was practically a declaration of affection.

It made his gut clench to think about, but he shouldered it aside. Prussia was a soldier, taking risks was what he did, and his awesome self had decided, in a moment of insanity, to take one now.

“We’re going to be on opposite sides of a war again one day, little master,” Prussia said then. Austria turned his head back to frown at him over the white of his shoulder.

“I am aware,” he said snippily, and Prussia made a face. “What is the purpose of this, Prussia?”

“Just thought you’d want to know, priss, that it hasn’t been entirely awful working together for once,” he said with a bit of a sneer, and before Austria could protest Prussia yanked on his shoulder, spinning the other nation around before his arms slipped around Austria’s waist and he was kissing him harshly, unskilled but passionate. Austria’s hands flew up as if he were momentarily unsure about what to do with them before they finally settled for resting on Prussia’s shoulder-blades, making Prussia grin somewhat savagely against Austria’s mouth. When he drew back he was satisfied to see that a slight flush had overtaken Austria’s face and that his glasses were slightly askew.

“I… Yes. It has been an experience,” Austria said a few seconds later before Prussia released him, placing his black hat on his head with a shit-eating grin as he watched the aristocratic nation visibly collect himself.

“Then I’ll see you on the battlefield, Specs,” he said as he turned around and walked out the door, the warm feeling in his chest mixing in with his determination to kick France to kingdom come with his old enemies by his side.

They had a new battle to fight, after all, and Prussia intended to _win_.

**Author's Note:**

> original notes:  
> General Rosenberg wrote: _"[Austrian troops] are not fully prepared and too incapable of helping themselves."_ As Prussia points out, they tended to be incapable of acting on their own, too over-drilled to react when a commander was not present.
> 
> [A small note from [Kate_Marley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Marley): The Rosenberg quote [mentioned above], dating back to the year 1809, is available in English on page 46 of the non-fiction book _Austrian Grenadiers and Infantry, 1788-1816_ (Oxford 1998) by David Hollins and Jeffery Burn. Unfortunately, there is no complete reference [as to the origins of the quote] (grr!), just that it was quoted after [the name] "Schneidart", who is unknown to me. Long story short: the original German quote was probably worded differently. And before I start with an accompanying paper on the shortcomings of linear tactics against the French revolutionary army, I'll just shut up. ;-)]
> 
> My apologies if that translation was wrong. My German is nowhere near fluent yet, so please feel free to correct me if I made mistakes (especially in regards to that last line).
> 
> Also, if anyone desperately wants the historical notes for this fic, I can try to comb through it and type up a list, or answer any specific questions you might have. Just let me know.
> 
> You can also see what a loser I am by talking to me on my tumblr, [deadhabsburgs](http://deadhabsburgs.tumblr.com/).


End file.
